Of Gardeners and Roses
by Lady Henrietta
Summary: One-shot: Following Adama after he has left Tyrol at the bar, what does the admiral think about the argument? How will it affect his relationship with Roslin? A/R


Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica belongs to Ronald D

Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica belongs to Ronald D. Moore and the Sci-Fi channel. The story also contains spoilers from "Ties that Bind" and "Escape Velocity."

Of Gardeners and Roses

Adama had come from the bar after an angry conversation with Tyrol. He entered his quarters, slamming the hatch behind him, locking it. A slight gasp from the couch reminded him that he was not alone. "Sorry. I forgot-"

"It's alright. Can I get you anything?" she offered, setting her teacup down on the coffee table.

He smiled briefly at the almost domestic offer. "Yes. I'd like some tea if it's not too much trouble."

Making himself comfortable on the couch, he unbuttoned his uniform top and sat back. A moment later she returned with a cup of tea. "Are you alright?"

"It's been a long day. Thanks for the tea," he replied, taking the cup as she sat down and took a sip from her own.

Then she turned to face him. "Yes, it has been a long day. What happened to you after my treatment though? And don't tell me 'nothing' because you've got that look on your face."

He smirked. "Usually my emotions are well-hidden."

She shook her head. "Not from me. Now what happened?"

From past experience, he knew that she was not going to let the matter drop easily. He let out a long sigh. "Tyrol and I had an argument that resulted in his being transferred to another ship."

"Oh Bill, I'm sorry," she expressed, lightly gripping his left arm with her right.

"He also made some implications that he had no business getting involved with," Adama added.

Roslin finished her tea and set the cup down on the coffee table. "You know he's not dealing well with things. You shouldn't let it bother you like this."

"It wasn't what he said," Adama began, looking out in front of him. "It was what today made me realize."

She watched him with concern. "And that would be?"

Adama let out a sigh. "Say you had a garden. It's a nice variety of flowers that you've been taking care of. In with the flowers is a beautiful rose. Now this rose has thorns, as most roses do, and you get pricked from time to time until you learn the rose better. Even then, you still get pricked once in a while. Well, say this rose is dying, not because of the soil or anything you did, but because some bug you didn't see made it sick."

Roslin gripped his arm more tightly. "Bill, you don't have to-"

"Let me finish. Either way the rose will die, but you could either leave her with the rest of the roses, or bring her into your house. Is it- is it selfish for the gardener to try to keep the rose a little longer?" he asked.

"What did Tyrol say to you?" she asked, leaning closer, her brow contracting with concern.

Adama slowly faced her, his eyes absorbing every detail of her face, from her brilliantly green eyes to the creases appearing around her mouth. "He was comparing Cally and Boomer, angrily ripping apart Cally's memory. I remember him doing the same thing with Boomer's death, actually. I suppose he thinks that if he can vilify the memory, he won't miss her so much."

"There was more to it than that," Roslin observed.

The man before her sighed deeply. "He asked me…"

"Go on," she encouraged.

"He asked me why none of us were with the ones we really loved. He said that they're either dead or dying," Adama relayed.

His eyes glistened with unshed tears behind his glasses. She was holding back her own tears as she spoke. "He should ask the rose what she wants, I mean the gardener. Roses are awfully picky these days, you know."

A smile crept onto his face. "Alright, what would the rose want then?"

"She needs to be with the other flowers, but she cares about the gardener as well. Is it selfish of the rose to want to remain the favorite flower of the gardener?" Roslin inquired.

"She could never be anything less," he told her in a rumbled whisper.

Roslin took a deep breath. "Why don't we stop talking in metaphors then?"

He nodded, moving to take both of her hands in his. "You deserve to be happy for the time you have left."

She knew how difficult it was for him to discuss her death. Squeezing his hands, she looked down. "I have responsibilities to the fleet. To the people. You reminded me of those once."

"I shouldn't have. Laura, I-" she suddenly broke away from him.

"Don't… don't do this out of pity. I can't take that, not from you, not now," she told him, brushing away a few tears that trickled down her cheeks.

Removing his glasses, he cleared a few tears from his own eyes. "It will never be out of pity. We're running out of time. This- _we_ shouldn't be a regret."

And there it was, the real question laid bare. As she watched him, she knew how easy it would be to jump into his arms. As he faced her, all he wanted to do was pull her to him. But they both knew that the answers to such question were never easy, usually coming with a price. What was the price this time? A moment's refuge, a barrier to cross, the lives of over 30,000 people. She knew that he loved her. It was one of the few things that she did not need to question. But could she let herself love him?

She placed a hand on his knee. "I think I understand something now. Though the rose will die, she is stronger than she would've been without the gardener's care. The rose gives him something to smile at, and he feeds and waters the rose. No matter what happens, you and I are stronger together than we are apart."

He placed a hand over hers, gently brushing it with his thumb. "I thought you said no more metaphors," he mentioned with a grin.

Her eyes met his, the question still present. "Bill, if we cross this line-"

"Who's going to care? Aside from you and me, who's going to care what we do while they're not watching. You and I have hid things from the public eye before. What makes this any different?" he reminded.

"Because this is far more personal than anything else we've run into," she pointed out.

He shook his head. "When hasn't it been personal between us?"

"I suppose you're right. There is one thing I would like to know though," she paused, smirking at him. "How much of what you've been reading to me is actually out of the book?"

"Feel like naming anything specific?" he inquired.

Mischief flickered in her green eyes. "Let's see… 'Caprica City was my teacher, my mistress.' Strong words, as were the ones that followed. Did you mean it?"

Cupping her chin, he leaned closer to her. "Yes."

She had seen it coming, but did nothing to stop it. He kissed her. His lips soft and gentle against hers, they broke through the last of her resistance. She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back. When they broke for air, she looked up at him. "I think it's time we added a chapter to that book of yours."

"And just how would you do that?" he asked with a wry grin.

Slowly moving away from him, she stood and offered him a hand. He took it and rose, not letting her go. She leaned up to kiss him soundly. "I've got a few ideas. One in particular involves seeing that your door is locked," she told him with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her in for another kiss. "Already done."

Fin………………………..


End file.
